Spirit Talker
by Bolinlover123
Summary: "Can't you see that I'm a freak now?" he yells, needing to make them understand, "I'm never gonna be the same!" Opal looks at him, her eyes sad, ashy, sparks, "Maybe not, Bo. But think of all the good you could do. You can help change the world," The conflict between humans and spirits continunes to grow, and an inncident will change Bolin's life forever.
1. The Devil's Blues

"Korra, over here!"

As they all touch down from the sky bison, elments at the ready, Bolin sends a giant boulder to the gang member running towred him. The boulder knocks the man down and Bolin smiles. He glances around at his suroundings, and runs to Asami, who's getting pinned in a corner by the enemy group.

It's just another day. Another day of helping Korra keep peace between humans and Spirits.

It could be just another day.

But it _isnt._

Bolin's just about to bend a jet of lava between him, Asami and some thungs, when _it_ happens.

He will remember this day for the rest of his life. Not just because of how it _felt_ , but because of how it changed him. The _Before_ and the _After_. Like some peice of his soul got destroyed from the very fibers of his being and nothing could ever replace it.

 _"Arggggh-!"_

He can feel his body go numb, feel the way all the nerve endings in his body stop stimitaniously.

"Bolin!"

It's worse than being bloodbent, Bolin recalls, as his limbs bend at unatural angles. He can hear the bones crack and feel his bloodvessels throb and burst. The agony of it all is overwheming and he can hear himself screaming. But just as fast as it all came, the pain stops.

It's dark... He's floating...

Bolin doesn't know what the hell is going on, but he can see the outside world like looking through a slit in a window.

 _Hello, Avatar. We meet again._ The voice is coming from inside him, speaking outward through the window. And Bolin can see Korra and Asami. He can see Mako and Opal and Jinora and they all look _terrified._

 _"Bolin!"_ Opal yells. He wants to yell out to them, to tell them somethings wrong, but he can't find his voice.

 _Your friend is no more._ _He is my vessal now._

"Who are you?!" Korra voice roars above the fear he feals.

 _My name is Ta Ming. And me and my fellow Spirits shall take over your pathetic human world._


	2. Something Wicked

Bolin feels the evil spirit move his limbs, like he's a puppet being pulled on a string. The spirit has full use of his bending now, and it sends a wave of lava towered his friends. Bolin watches this happen, his eyes going wide, his mind screaming to _stop, stop, don't hurt them!_

They dodge, just in time, as he-no, _it_ , Bollin tells himself- bends giant boulders in thier direction. His friends and brother all dodge; none of them are attacking.

Bolin wants to scream, do something- _anything-_ to gain control again, but its like he's drowning. He tries and tries to reach the surface, to get this _thing_ out of him, but he's choking on it, being smothered by the dark energy that feels like its ripping apart his very core.

 _Get out of my head!_ He yells in his mind and he can feel the vibration of his voice echoing. He sends mental onslaugts to the spirit, but it just seems to make the spirit's grip on him harder.

"What's wrong, Avatar?" the words are in his voice, but it has a twisted edge to it, like bitter acid, "I thought you wanted spirits in the human world. Foolish girl," and he can hear himself laughing a mocking laugh, and he tries with all his might to make it stop, but it all just seems usless. Just as it moves his arms in another bending stance does he feel the weight of another body crash into him. Korra's blazing eyes are inches from his own purple glowing orbs, and she looks furious, like she's ready to set the world on fire.

"Let him go!" She demands, and Bolin can almost feels the heat of the fire dagger she has at his throat.

"You won't hurt me," the spirit mutters, making his lips curl up in a sneer, "You wouldnt risk hurting your pathetic friend,"

"He's not pathetic!" Korra exclaims, holding his body tight against the wall. "Let him go _now_ , or else!"

The spirit just cackles its evil laugh at them. "Or else what?"

Bolin can see Korra and everyone around him, but it's like he's looking through a fogged up window- a window made of iron. He bangs and bangs but he can't get through. Opal's tearing up, the rest of them look horrified. He's concentrating hard, willing his muscles to move to his command- but the pressure on his body gets tighter, and he feels his chest constrict as if the spirit is cuttting of his suply of air. Just then this _horrid f_ eeling begins to wash over him, and he can't seem to rememeber why he was fighting, why it all seemed so important seconds ago...

In the back of his mind Bolin knows the spirit is manipulating his mind, but nothing seems important and...what was he trying to do?

"Bolin!" Bolin hears it then, Mako's frantic voice. He can see Mako's brows furrowed in concern, see the flickering in his eyes. "Bolin...can you here me?"

 _Yes!_ he wants to scream back, _I don't know what to do!_

He feels it then, something shift in the spirit's energy. It haults for a moment, its gaze lingering on his brother.

"I need you to snap out it of, Bo! Come on!"

It clickes then. Bolin will remember this moment for years to come; how his brother's gaze, so horrified and worried had peirced through the mental and phyiscal barriers the spirit had so violently put up.

"G-get out..." He says, forcing everything he has in him to get the words out, " _Get! Out! Of! My! Head!"_

He's franitcally cluntching his head, as if he can phyically yank out the evil spirit. The next few moments are a blur of lights and limbs and screaming-maybe he's screaming, maybe it's someone else. But his body is on fire, like he skin is being eaten away by lava, and he yells, and yells, and this light starts to shine all over. It's purple and it's glowing and it feels like the surface of the sun.

The last thing Bolin remembers is his name being yelled out before he hits the ground. He sees his friends and brother rushing toward him as his blanks out.

As the darkness overtakes him, he shuts his eyes and welcomes the painless sleep of nothingness.

* * *

He knows something's different about him before he even opens his eyes. As he lays there, not yet opening his eyes, he takes in the new sensation. It's like his energy has been thown off balence- _shifted_ somehow. He feels it in his core like there's this budding sense of power humming inside him. But not just in him-it's _everywhere_. He can feel the energy everywhere. Like he can feel the chi of the plants and the lemors and the bison, and somehow he knows Opal is sitting next to him without even opening his eyes.

Just then, it's like all the sensations, all the energy, comes crashing down on him at once and it's all he can do not to scream out loud.

He bults up in bed, chest heaving, gasping in breaths fast and furious, a yell catching in his throat.

"Bolin!" And Opal- just like he had somehow known-is right beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to calm down. "Bolin, Bo, it's okay! It's me! It's _me_! You're safe!"

"C-can't," he gasps, breathe-!" He's clutching his head, trying to make it all go away, because everything it too _bright_ and too _loud_ and too _sufficating_. He can see everything glowing like auras around him and _feel_ it all inside him, and he clutches his head and lets out a whimper.

"What's wrong?" she asks, begging to underdstand,"Bolin..? Hey, breathe with me." She instructs, taking his hand and placing it on her diaphram. "Feel my breaths and copy me. In; one-two-three. Hold;one-to-three. Out;one-to-three. Can you do that?"

Bolin doesn't think he can, but he nods frantically and takes in a breath, trying to hold it for three seconds.

"There you go. Good job, Bo," she says, rubbing his back as they breathe together in synch. "Now hold..."

It's just as they're doing this that Korra and Mako rush in, followed by Asami and Tenzin.

Each person seems to send a new wave of energy with them, and he moans and clutches his head again.

Seeing his brother's state, Mako rushes up to him and tries to get to him and sqeeze past Opal. "Bolin! Hey, what's wrong, bro?"

"He just woke up like this; all frantic. I think he's having a panic attack," Opal tells them, and Bolin shakes his head to dissaude her.

"N-no..." his voice wavers as he shuts his eyes tight, "Not...panic. It's t-too...too much," he breathes in heavy and fast, "I c-can feel - _feel_ all of it...it's _too_ much..."

The room is silent for a long moment, the quiet cutting like a blade. Mako and Opal look to the others for advice. No one seems to know what to say. After a moment Tenzin steps forward.

"Can you explain this feeling, Bolin?" he asks, gentle but ergent.

He shakes his head again, opening his eyes. All his friends are glowing, like auras, thier energies humming and it feels like he's head is going to burst at the seams.

"It's l-like you-everything- is glowing and...and...and humming," his voice cracks as he tries to explain, and he's sure he sounds crazy,"I can feel all of it," he gasps,"And it's too much, and it hurts, and I don't know what's happening!"

Mako squeezes his shoulder, lost as of how to comfort him. "It's okay," he says, but everyone can tell it's clearly not. Then Korra speaks up.

"Let me try something," she says, and goes to the window and pushes the panes up. "Bolin, I'm going to use water to try to heal you, okay? Try to tell me if it helps," And she moves her arms in a circular motions, bending the water from the bay up over the cliff and into the room. Once she's satisfied with the amount of liquid, she walks over to him and gets on the bed, kneeling behiind him.

"Just try and relax, okay? Tell me if it's too much or if anything hurts," she says, levitating the water above his head. He swallows thinkly and shuts his eyes again, feeling his mucsles tense.

She bends the water like a cacoon around his head, concentrating for a moment. Everyone is silent. Then, her eyes go wide.

" _Woah.._."

"What?" Opal, Mako, Asami, and Bolin all explain simotaniously.

"I can feel all this _powerful_ energy around him, and inside him. I've never felt anything like this before. He's head's a mess,"

Bolin swallows again, he's stomach sinking.

"W-what does that mean?" Mako asks, frantically. He sounds angry, but then again, Mako always sounds angry at something.

"That Spirit," Asami cuts in, "It must have done something to him. Something to his chi,"

"Can a spirit do that?" Opal asks, "I thought that when a spirit posseses a person, the victim is phyically altered somehow,"

"Normally that does happen," Tenzin says, rubbing his beard, "But that doesn't seem to be the case here, thank goodness,"

"Alright, Bolin. I'm going to try to dig a little deeper. Is that okay?" He nods silently.

Korra works the water around his head again, spreading her healing power deeper and the water glows a deeper hue of blue. It's just as she's doing her work does she see a flash of the dark spirit in his mind, the eyes glowing purple. Then, this flash of purple energy hits her. The powerful amount of emotion and energy hits her, like a huge wave of water, and she's flown back into the wall. Bolin is flown in the oppsite direction. They crash aginst the oppsite walls with groans.

"Korra!" "Bolin!"

Asami runs to Korra, helping her up, and she rubs her head. "Bolin..." Korra mutters.

"Guys-!?" Opal's sharp remark has them all turning in her direction, and they all stare at Bolin.

His eyes are glowing deep purple, and he's looking down at his hands. Both of his hands are also giving off the same glow.

"Bolin...?" Opal asks, almost frantic.

He shuts his eyes tight, and when he opens them, the glow in both his eyes and hands dissapear. He looks up at everyone, weariness written on his freatures.

"What...just happened?" He asks quietly.

"That spirit energy," Korra says, standing up, "It's inside you, somehow,"

"Well, that's just...fantastic," he finds himself saying, trying to mask the fear budding in him. "What does this mean?"

No one seems to have an awnser to that question. And it's then that he realizes that all of the _noise_ and _choas_ is toned down. Not gone; he can still see thier aura's and feel everything around him. He can still feel the energy inside him, making itself known. It's buzzing. But...it's manageable.

"Korra..." he says, facing her, "Whatever you did, it helped. I can still feel it and see it...but it's... _better,"_

Korra smiles, "I'm glad,"

"Well," Tenzin says after a moment, "It's been a long day, everyone. Why don't we all go rest up before dinner? We can figure this all out tomorrow,"

Korra gives his shoulder a squeeze before she follows her mentor our the door. Asami gives him a comforting smile, but Opal and Mako linger. Mako lingers by the door, giving the couple some space, but he's not doing a very good job of it.

"Are you sure you're okay, sweetie? You looked so terrrifed back there. You really scared me," She says, placeing a hand on his chest.

 _No,_ he wants to say, _I'm not okay. I feel horrible and restless and something is really wrong with me._

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll be fine," he says, "It's better now," he gives a shakey smile but he knows it doesn't reach his eyes.

"But you still _feel_ it? And see it?" she asks quietly.

"Opal," he puts a hand to her cheek, "I'm _okay._ It''s manaagble now. I can handle it," he says, because Bolin is many things, and he is good at pretending to be fine when he's not.

"Okay..." she doesn't seem convinced. "Do you want me to stay the night? I'll stay with you if it helps," He smiles sweetly at her, but before he can awnser, his brother come from from the hall and buts in.

"Hey, Opal, do you mind giving us a minute?" he asks, impatiently. She pouts, clearly angry at having their moment interupted.

"Alright," she gives him kiss on the cheek, "Goodnight, sweetie,"

"Night," he says, and she leaves the room.

"Thanks for the privacy, bro," he mutters, his mouth turned down in a line. "I barely get to be her enough as it is,"

"I'm sorry, but I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I know you probably told Opal that you're fine, but you can be honest with me,"

 _No, I can't. Esspically not with you._

" _Honestly,"_ he says, trying to sound nonechalant, "I think I'm okay. Whatever this is, it's better now. I can handle it,"

Mako shakes his head, not seeming to be reasured. "You shouldn't have to handle anything. This shouldnt have happeed to you at all,"

"Mako, I-"

"You _scared_ me, bro. Seeing you like that..." Mako turns his head away, clearly having trouble with whatever he's thinking.

Bolin sighs, not knowing what to say.

"Just...promise me you'll tell me if something happens, or if it gets worse, okay?"

"I will,"

" _Promise_ ,"

 _I can't._

"I promise, Mako,"

Mako sighs and squeezes his shoulder.

* * *

 _Hey, guys! let me know what you think! I'll try to post another chapter this weekend!_


	3. The Curse

_Hey, everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review. 'Letterstothesun' was very helpful to me with this story and I offer her my thanks._

 _Enjoy :)_

* * *

Over the course of the next few days, Bolin had been forced to learn just what these new _feelings_ and _auras_ and _thoughts_ were. He would be in his apartment, and suddenly he'd get this feeling out of nowhere. This instense _worry_ or _rage_ or _heartbreak._ It had taken him a good two days to realize just what all these new sensations where and what exactly the heck was happening to him.

He could feel other peoples' feelings, see into other peoples' minds. That was all the choas that was latching onto him.

It wasn't _him_. It was everyone else.

And it was so overwhelming that Bolin thought he might go insane.

.

There was a time, in between twelve and four a.m., when Bolin was usually able to rest.

It was the time, Asami had explained to him kindly, when most of Bolin's neighbors were able to reach their deepest, most relaxed levels of sleep, and he'd finally be surrounded by quiet. By that time in the early morning, they would have been sleeping for hours, passing elegantly through the usual twenty-second dreams they probably wouldn't remember in the morning to reach the deepest levels of rest. Asami had been studying up on sleep for Bolin, strategizing with him on how to actually get some semblance of rest in his condition. At night, Bolin would wait as patiently as he could, screwing up his eyes through his neighbors' quick jarring dreams. Bolin usually tried to ignore them and kept his eyes trained on the little silver timepiece that lived on his bedside, waiting for the short, dark hand to finally reach the scripted number twelve.

To Bolin's relief, Asami's method had worked for the first few nights, and although he didn't really sleep, he was able to drift off into some sort of less-miserable stupor where he finally, finally had his brain to himself again. He'd been so happy he'd cried, and had even ventured into the streets of Republic City the next morning to find Asami and give her a billion hugs in a Bolin-style thank-you.

Asami's plan, however, didn't last. Nothing good ever did. One night, the couple above him had a horrendous fight, and Bolin blacked out with the anger and sadness that shot through the ceiling into his brain. He came to, retching over his toilet, the glowing purple of his hands strong enough to light the entire bathroom. Once Bolin's stomach was empty, he'd laid a head against the wooden side of his tub and wished for nothing more than his life before the curse. He no longer had the energy for it, for the joy and hope that had sustained him through his previous life.

He had felt this horrid anger on the fourth night out of nowhere. A rage had overtaken him so strong that he had punched his mirror, with a primal scream ripping from his throat. He had recoiled, hissing as the pain throbbed through his damaged knuckles. He had inspected his hand and bandaged his knuckles, all while barely holding back the tears- his _own_ terrified tears.

He couldn't do this by himself. He wasn't okay. He couldn't 'handle' it like he had told Mako and his girlfriend. He needed to talk to someone or he didn't know what he'd do.

He clutched the phone in his good hand, listeneing as the rings hummed out over the other end.

 _Please pick up..._

"Hello?"

 _"Opal..."_ Her name came out in a chocked whimper. He shut his eyes tight in a failed attempt to calm himself down.

"Bo? Bolin, is that you?" her voice was laced with concern.

He nodded, before realizing that she couldn't see him. "It's me. I-I don't know what to do...Opal, _please help me_."

"Where are you," her voice was ergent. "Are you at your place?"

"Yeah,"

"I'll be there in ten minutes, Bo. Hold on,"

"Okay..." he whispered, and hung up.

.

There was a knock on the window that came from his fire escape. Bolin had tried to look presentable and wash his face, but it was no use; he looked like a freight train had run him over. He walked over and let Opal in, and she took one look at him and crushed him in a tight hug.

"Bolin..." she murmured. He let out a whimper.

"Talk to me. How bad is it?"

She knew. They all knew it was _bad_ , but they didn't know the extent of it. He wouldn't allow himself to burden them with the hell that was his life now. Mako had called him everyday since the possession, his voice always laced with concern, always asking if he was _'okay'._ Asami was keeping his brother and Korra up to date with everything, but that didn't mean it made him feel better.

But Opal was differnt.

"Bolin?" she was looking at him now, eyes full of pleading concern, and he felt a love so strong coming from her that it made his knees litterally shake. If Bolin ever doubted she loved him before, he didn't anymore. The love and concern wafting from her was so pure and strong that he had to sit down on the bed, and she followed him, holding his hand. She looked at his damanged hand questioningly, but didn't say anything.

"I...I feel like I'm losing my mind, Opal," he shut his eyes tight and shook his head as if to shake it all away. "I can feel _everything_ from everyone, and it takes control of me and I can't stop it. And it's too much. I _can't_ \- I can't do this,"

"It's okay," She said quietly, placing her cool hand on his cheek, "It's going to be okay. We'll figure it out, together,"

He couldn't look her in the eyes; it was like looking into the surface of the sun. His stomach ached and his head throbbed and he just wanted to sleep for a year.

"Why did this have to happen to me, Opal?" Nothing had hurt like this before. It was like a parasite had wormed it's way inside him and was spreading its bacteria into every pore of his being.

Opal didn't say anything at first, her eyes glassy and wet. He wanted to reach up and wipe away her tears, but he was too afraid to touch her.

"I don't know, sweetie," she squeezed his knee, "But maybe there's a reason behind all this. We just have to hope for the best,"

Hope? He had always prided himself on hope and optimism. Hope had gotten him to age eight; it had managed to help him survive to age ten, twelve, sixteen. But now...?

"I don't see how this is all going to change for the better, Opal. It's," he took in a breath and made himself meet her eyes, "It's hard to see how this is all going to be okay,"

A wave of loyalty, and devotion, and love, hit him so strong that he had to physically heave in a breath. He cluched his head, dizzy with it all.

"I'll be with you," she murmured. "I'm not going anywhere,"

"I love you,' he whispered, holding her cheek. She pulled in and latched her lips onto his.

Bolin could have died happily in her arms.

.

This moment is nothing like he dreamt it would be.

It is nothing like how the Traids described it: the gangsters draping lacy underthings from their yellow fingers, with greasy smiles and coiled lips. Yuans passed, and high laughter accompanied with cactus juice and beer in dark corners of HQ; girls in short robes gaining kisses and rough touches from men with beady eyes and putrid breath, and groupy hands. Legs tangled under tables until sunrise; words and phrases that a young Mako told his even younger self never to repeat.

He knows he's always been a romantic, but honestly, he's wondering if people are all liars, or that they just get too fucked up in the moment to care.

His mother and father's voices, long forgotten, creep up on him during the strangest times. Now, though, his father's smooth voice whispers in his ear: _when you meet a girl, son, you have to treat her like the jewel she is. When you find the right one, you'll know._

 _But, Daddy, girls are icky._

 _Oh, my little buddy, you won't be thinking that way for long. Trust me on that._

He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and deciding would take far too much effort, so he lets the thought fall from his head like another drop of sweat crashing down to slide along the slope of her breasts.

It's in his own bed, at least. Somewhere where he can make the memory his own, and have her scent wash into his sheets. His illusions of candles and rose petals have long since fallen prey to cynicism, but he assumed that the first time he had sex with her, he wouldn't be this nervous.

 _She_ makes him nervous, in all the right ways.

They had all but pulled each other into the bed after confessing thier love for eachother, exchanging words for grunts and gasps. He tries to remember _his own_ name, and knows he truly is a monster that cannot be caged.

A younger him would have been a mumbling mess at even the thought of the 's' word, but now he just wants to grow old with her, and hear the sound of their one-day-when baby's laughter, and get a nice house that they can call home.

It started with a kiss, at least, desperate as it may have been; at least in that one thing, his expectations and reality coincide. But rather than the sweetness he hoped for, this kiss tasted of copper where she had bitten the inside of his check, and salt. The lavender from her shampoo is making an intoxicating cocktail for his nostrils.

A wave of pain and fear hits him like a brick and he goes rigid, muscles tensing above her. She sees him tense and she stops, brows furrowing. But for the first time since _it_ started, he manages to gain the upper hand. He musters up all his concentration, and gives a _good mental fucking shove_ , and pushes the feelings away, focusing on his own self. For the first time in four days, he has control of his own mind and body.

In his perfect world, where they were not separated by war and duties, and the world turning to shit, this would all be planned out better. He remembers the past years in their relationship, where everything was so easy and pure: the nice dates, walking her hand and hand back to his place with some slow music playing on the radio and the comfort of his own sheets. It was all slow, gentle, romantic. Everything that the stories tell you about love, sugar-coating it with all the bows and sighs.

But now he can't lose her again.

But in reality, he wishes, at least, that he had thought to bring a condom tonight. The blinking light sways above them back and forth from the ceiling in his room, casting ugly light and shadows unto their silhouettes. Bolin blinks, and she's still there, under him. This is really happening; not some dream. He's in control. He's in _fucking_ control. He hopes she's not a virgin, because that would make him feel even more sick with himself. But then again, she's way too hot for this to be her first time, and she knows what she's doing-oh, _dear agni,_ she knows what she's doing. His sweet, innocent, little Opal...

Her whispered exhortation of not to worry about it was sufficient enough for his adrenaline- addled mind at the time, and now, there is nothing from keeping them from feeling every inch of each other. It's so wet and hot, and _Spirits_ , her breathing is so in synch with his.

They told each other, in all the years they've been together, that they'd wait. They'd wait for the right time, when they were older. No rush, take it slow.

Now, they can't stop.

And despite her whimpering pleas to go harder, faster, he does his best to control his pace, to not succumb to the temptation to send a hand between them and send her over the edge. He doesn't want this to be over so soon.

Because when it's over, he'll be a slave again to his own body. When she leaves, she'll go back to the Airbenders and righting wrongs, and he'll go back to...what? Kuvira is in jail, the Air Temple is full, and he can't go back to Mako. He has nothing now.

He will not hurt her anymore than he already has. And it's not like she'll ever want to see him again after all the trouble he's caused with the 'Earth Empire' and Zaofu. It's safer this way, anyway.

 _"More..."_ Her teeth nip his ear, and he's aware he's gone hard, and he breaths out slowly, making himself her canvas.

Her hands travel everywhere, and he lets her. After a while, they rest, and she brings her curious gaze down to his face.

And in his dusty bedroom with, she wouldn't have realized that it was supposed to mean anything special. That he was saying sorry for all he couldn't do for her.

"Why does it have to be our last?" she murmured, as if reading his mind, and her voice hitching as his lips wandered down towards the dark bruises he had left on her neck. "We've only just found each other again. Everything's just settling down. Come back to the City, to the Temple. I don't wanna leave you." She sounded pleading; pleading and desperate, and pathetic. "We can help you,"

Her hand snakes along the inside of his thighs and he moans. He doesn't want to leave either, Spirits he doesn't want this to end. But he's not good for anyone. He'll only hurt her. She's too innocent, too pure-

"Opal..." He whispers. Her flushed face is looming above him; her short, cropped hair falling around her features like some kind of Spirit Goddess.

"Shhhh..."

She kissed him harder and let her right leg cross over his, his left finding a spot between her warm thighs as he realized, somehow for the first time, just how little there was between them. In the scattered moments they'd had alone like this, they had developed a kind of protocol. It involved kissing, which led to hands slowly but hungrily making their way under clothes. From time to time, one of them would blaze a trail to new patches of unexplored flesh, and they would add that to the list.

Now, they are together/ one. The bed is memorizing the shape of their bodies, the heat sticking the sheets together. Their breaths are making his mind dizzy, and her body's pressed against him like a cocoon. Her sweaty face looms above him, begging for him. He presses his lips into her's, gentle at first, afraid to break her ( but this is Opal, and pity the fool who dares to call her anything but strong) then more firm when she grumbles low in her throat. She pushes into him, and a wonderful heat flushes his body. One of her hands is on his chest, right above his heart, and the other is tangled in his hair, scraping his scalp, holding him in place. He feels like an animal in a cage for all the wrong reasons, and only Opal can tame the monster that he has become; betrayal, lies. He's not who he used to be since working for the Earth Empire, since that _thing_ possessed him. He chases after redemption but finds her instead. She smirks, his lips two cherries parting to show her curious tongue.

His hands (for once he is unashamed of them) are on her slim, but firm waist and she squirms slightly as his fingers glide up and down her hips. He pulls back slightly, afraid.

" _Tickles."_ She moans. " _More."_

He snorts and works his way under the uncharted territory, feeling the soft flesh of her breasts. He looks up for a moment, as if to ask, _is this okay?_ She just nods and closes her eyes, letting him explore her.

" _I want this_." she hisses, like everything she says are words from the mouth of a goddess, and he most obey. And they are. He is. "Go there with me."

"Spirits, Opal..." He breathes in, and let's himself go. He aware he's gone hard, and doesn't give a damn. Weeks ago, he'd have blushed and been a spluttering mess of gibberish after blowing raspberries on her stomach and hearing her giggles. Years ago, he'd have been too embarrassed to even touch a girl that way, let alone look at anywhere but her face. Now, he just doesn't want to lose this moment, _lose her_.

They've both changed. And not for the better.

His hands find smooth, flesh. He thinks how two such prominent, strong, life-giving wonders, can be so soft and sooth at the touch. As if their tenderness is a shield of some sort, and he is finally let in. He cups them both, smoothing his thumb over her nipples and she gasps in delight. She presses her mouth into his, like she's trying to steal his soul. Their tongues play for a bit, a game of cat and mouse, before she nips his ear, and he hisses. She kisses him on the neck, the jaw, his chest, making him as her own, as _each other._

"I'm never going to let you go," He tells her, "I promise."

"I love you so much, Bolin."

"I love you, too, Opal Beifong."

* * *

It had only been one week since the spirit possession.

Another night, while he resumed his usual slumped position in front of his silver timepiece, Bolin's mind had exploded with rage and pain, throwing him from the bed and sending his body convulsing on the wooden floor of his apartment. He'd sunk his teeth into an arm to keep from tearing himself apart, and punched outward once, shattering the stone wall of his building. He'd been screaming, Mako told him later, shaking him from his stupor and looking just as horrified as Bolin felt. Apparently, the Triple Threats had broken into the forest of spirit vines downtown, intent on passing illegal goods through the portal. The spirits had rallied, fighting and killing an entire group of the gangsters. Well, it made sense he'd react that way. Bolin had apologized profusely, choking on the words, and sent Mako away as quickly as he could.

And then, there were the little things. His elderly neighbor's incessant worrying about her cat-squirrel who stayed out all day, returning home only for meals and when the weather turned cold. The shocks of anxiety from the paper boy down the street, trying desperately to make ends meet for his dying mother. And the endless, torturous whispering of spirits in Bolin's ear.

One night, after just over a week of little sleep, found Bolin in the same position as always; squatting on the unwashed, crumpled blanket on his mattress and watching the hands on the timepiece tick forward, seeming to move more slowly with each passing second. It was only 10:15 PM if Bolin was reading the clock right, but he couldn't really know for sure. He didn't seem to know much of anything anymore, in his spirit-influenced, no-sleep induced stupor.

The only thing that Bolin knew was that he wanted it to end. To finish. To escape his brain, his body, his life. No existence, he mused, would be better than this cursed one.

But one thing about Bolin, for better or for worse, was an unbreakable sense of determination to live, no matter what it meant. He could jump from the window of his twenty-eight-story apartment right now, but his body wouldn't allow himself to. He'd get on the ledge and then think of Mako, and Korra, and Asami, and Opal, whose tinkling laugh and delicate touch he missed so much he ached. Instead, Bolin crawled to the little refrigerator in his apartment's kitchenette, relying on the dim purple glow of his fingertips to navigate through the chaos his apartment had devolved into, and pulled down a stiff styrofoam box of week-old takeout. As he shoved pieces of meat into his mouth, Bolin made up his mind.

He was going to end this. And he was going to live.

Bolin wasn't sure how he got to his feet and out the door of his apartment, but his fingers were soon brushing the smooth walls of the hallway as he took one stumbling step after another towards the dark exit that lead to their rickety little stairway. A door opened in front of him and Bolin was struck by a heavy bolt of worry once again as a kind, elderly face peeked out, looking first down one side of the hallway and then turning towards Bolin.

His hands were glowing again, his stomach rushing into his throat as foreign, miserable concern clouded his mind. Bolin stumbled over his feet- he hadn't put on shoes, he noticed- trying to keep his head.

"Can I help you, dear?" The woman asked. But she didn't want to help him. She wanted the strange sickly glowing boy to be gone, go away. She only wanted her cat-squirrel back.

Bolin made eye contact with her and suddenly, he was aware of her mind, her consciousness, so weak, so easy to mold to his every desire. "Yeah." He glared at her, willing his stomach to stay put. "You can stop worrying about your _monkeyfeathered_ cat-squirrel, go inside, and never bother me again."

Her eyes glassed over; the pupils dilated, as a stream of purple vapor expelled from Bolin's mouth and floated down the hallway, into her own. She turned mechanically, shut the door with a snap behind her. Bolin fell to his knees again, gasping for breath.

 _"Monkey Feathers,"_ he muttered, pulling himself to his bare feet and setting off down the stairs.

Bolin didn't quite know where he was going, but anywhere at all would have been better than his dim, lonely, unwashed apartment. Maybe to the Air Temple to see Opal; he needed to talk to someone- _anyone-_ about all this.

But he didn't want to cause her anymore worry than he already currently was.

Walking around the streets of Republic City was so different now, in his condition. Shocks of emotion shattered his composure and he could _see_ them, the many displaced spirits wandering their new world. Bolin heard mutterings in strange languages, the grunts and roars of the wilder spirits, tinkling music that played whenever some of them moved. He felt displacement and sadness and quite a few emotions even he couldn't describe, because maybe humans simply didn't possess the capacity to _feel_ that strongly.

Suddenly, Bolin stopped in his tracks, gripped by a sudden burst of emotion so strong that it winded him, made his head spin. His eyes met a pair of glowing blue orbs in an alleyway. He felt so much hatred, the desire to _rip_ and _tear_ and he would have, if there had been another person on the street.

But it was empty, save for Bolin and the spirit glaring back at him.

Then, the spirit moved away, and Bolin felt his legs pick up to follow. "No," he moaned to himself. " _No,_ please, _stop."_ He didn't want to know where he was being taken. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He had to get away, but his body no longer listened to reason. It hadn't since that _thing_ had taken control of him.

The creature lead him through dark alleyways in the city and Bolin's legs unwillingly sped up, and he ran through what felt like miles of city without stopping. His lungs would never have been able to handle the physical exertion. His body wouldn't have, either. But it didn't seem to matter, because Bolin's body was no longer his own to command; it was shared with something else, and that _something else_ was pushing him onward. It ignored the burning in his chest and the jolt of shattered glass caught in the soft underside of Bolin's bare feet. All it cared about was moving Bolin towards the creature.

The salty smell of seawater jerked Bolin from his trance and he blinked, taking stock of his location. He was by the docks now, on a narrow walkway that connected gigantic iron warehouse to gigantic iron warehouse. In front of him, a heavy rusted door creaked open.

"No," he breathed feebly once more, begging his body to obey his commands. He could feel _them_ in there; hundreds of disjointed thoughts and feelings, shrieks and jarring emotions. Spirits. The place was full of them. But of course, his body didn't listen- why should he have expected it to now?- And he was forced inside.

The door slammed shut behind him.

And then, he was surrounded. And then the languages of the spirits began to scream in his ears, the sounds and music of the creatures reaching a crescendo in his mind. Bolin balled his fists against the noise, screwing up his eyes, and he felt displaced and sad, lonely and barren, a great unhappiness and fear that spoke nothing but years of repression and misunderstanding. He felt the desire to kill each terrible, entitled human that had kept the spirits- his people- from their rightful world. He felt more destructive power than he'd ever felt before; learning to bend lava never came close to this. Not in one million lifetimes.

Bolin opened his eyes and his hands were glowing again, the brilliant purple seeping through his thin layer of skin and running up his veins to his arms. He opened his mouth in a scream and the room flooded with light, illuminating the dark shapes swirling all around him.

"Please stop," Bolin begged nothing in particular, collapsing to his knees. "Please, Spirits, leave me alone!" He covered his ears with his hands. Tears fell down his cheeks and dripped off the tip of his nose.

He didn't know if he was bleeding, or if he'd vomited again, or if his mind was even contained anymore in the flimsy sack of skin and bones he'd once called his body. It was running wild, one with the spirits, and maybe he was nothing anymore, done in by the spirits around him. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he knelt there, shaking.

"Bolin?" He heard, far off in his mind. "Bolin!"

 _Mako._ It was Mako's voice.

"Please, Bolin!" Mako's voice screamed, piercing through the noise of the spirits. "Please, let me help you, let me-"

"Stay away from me!" Bolin felt the words tear out of his throat as he stood, swaying. He still wanted to rip, to kill. "I'm dangerous, I could hurt you-"

"I know you'd never hurt me, little bro." A warm hand was on his arm and Bolin opened his eyes. Mako was standing in front of him, looking worried and scared and tired and _real._

Another emotion joined the rest. All that Bolin knew was that this was happy, and warm. It was familiar. His mind latched onto it, afraid to let go.

And suddenly, Bolin saw himself. A young boy, barely the age of six, looking up at himself through a row of thick lashes. Suddenly he was a little older, perhaps eight years old, making a rock fly and squealing with glee and pride. Then, he was in the rain at ten, wrapping an arm around his own shoulders as tears poured down his pudgy face.

This was Mako's mind. He was inside his brother's own mind.

 _It's going to be okay,_ he- _Mako-_ told himself reassuringly, squeezing the little drenched raincoat. _They might be gone, but we'll always have each other. I'll never let anything happen to you._

 _You promise?_ His younger self looked up. A tendril of snot ran down his upper lip.

 _Promise, little bro. I promise._

Bolin exhaled, and felt his eyes roll into the back of his head as he lost his balance.

The last thing that he felt as he fell was the warm, reassuring grasp of Mako's arms around his torso. Bolin never touched the ground.


End file.
